


Nobody Dies From A Scar

by ChokolatteJedi



Category: Carrie: The Musical - Gore/Pritchard/Cohen (2012 Revival)
Genre: Absent Parents, Angst, Background Relationships, Backstory, Bullying, Child Neglect, Childhood Memories, Gen, High School, Introspection, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:26:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28419090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChokolatteJedi/pseuds/ChokolatteJedi
Summary: Chris's life is all about trade-offs; she learned early that that was the way things were.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3
Collections: Holiday Horror 2020





	Nobody Dies From A Scar

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SegaBarrett](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SegaBarrett/gifts).



> That quiet final moment in "The World According to Chris" always gets me, so I wanted to build from that. I hope you enjoy this look beneath her facade!

"You care too much what people think. Oh, I almost forgot — my folks are away. Party at my house tonight!" Chris told Sue.

The bell ringing ended their conversation, and they split in the hall — Sue to math and Chris to history. Mr Johnson was still absent, and his substitute, Mrs Greenwhich, just put on the second half of the same utterly boring world war movie she'd shown yesterday. Chris quickly kicked her feet up onto the empty desk beside her and promptly started playing on her phone.

Witchy Greenwhich had tried to say something about it yesterday, but Chris had just ignored her, and eventually she went back to the desk in the front. Chris was pleased to note that today she didn't even bother.

The truth was, Chris's parents had been gone for over a month. Sue's mom might know — she talked to Chris's mom more frequently than Chris did — so Sue might know too, but if not, Chris wasn't going to tell her.

As long as she pretended that they were only gone for the weekend, no one had to know that they had spent less than three weeks of the last three months in town. A large, cynical, part of Chris believed that the only reason her dad had gotten her a car when she turned sixteen was so that they no longer needed to pay for someone to drive her to school. James — who had taught her to drive — was laid off the week after her birthday.

Cynthia still did the cooking and cleaning, but mostly while Chris was at school; the only time she saw the woman was when she woke her up, gave her breakfast, and made sure she got out the door on time. Once upon a time it would have bothered Chis to think of Cynthia having to clean up after tonight's party, but she'd stopped thinking about it.

That was the price she paid for having money, one of Chris's old nannies had explained; people were either working hard to get it, or enjoying spending it. She got to live in a fancy house and have all kinds of toys, but her parents weren't around much, and that's the way things were.

When she'd gotten older, Chris had wondered just what exactly her parents were doing on their trips — making money or enjoying it? A little of both, it turned out. Her father was having board meetings, or business trips, or working on mergers, or lobbying, or any one of a number of boring sounding things tied to making money. Her mother was usually spending it.

Chris didn't care, really. If being alone was the price she paid for having money, then it was worth it. Having money meant she was the first to get a car, and that her Dad could get her into Brown, and that she could have the hottest clothes and the newest phone. Who needed parents compared to all of that?

Perhaps the movie going on and on about soldiers writing letters home was affecting her, because Chris found herself swiping out of Twitter and Googling her dad. He was in Texas this week, it turned out; he'd given a lecture a few nights ago to a bunch of students at a business school. Chris skimmed the article, picking out the highlights from his speech.

 _Mr Hargensen began the speech with a rousing zinger: "Since you were children, I'm sure your parents preached equality — everyone deserves a shot — right? Wrong! This is the real world: some of us have got it, and some haven't got jack."_ Well that sounded like the kind of thing he said whenever he was home. Her Dad was really big on how he had "pulled himself up by his own bootstraps," as he said.

_...His final words were no less powerful. "Better to punch than get punched: and I mean that both metaphorically and literally. You get nowhere being nice, and a few scars won't kill you, just prove that you earned your place the hard way."_

That line brought Chris back to the time she had gotten appendicitis and had to go to the hospital in Brunswick. Her parents had actually come home for that, and spent almost a whole month before leaving again. When he visited her in the hospital, Chris's Dad had told her "See, you'll come out of this with nothing but a scar: nobody dies from a scar. You'll be fine."

And he had been right, hadn't he? Chris had nothing but a tiny, faded scar to show for that mess; all of the pain and fear and missing her parents hadn't meant anything in the long run. Her dad was right.

That was also why Chris knew that her ploy with Billy would work. He was an idiot, but she could put up with him longer than her father could. Appearance was very important to her father — even when he was out of the state, Chris's actions would reflect on him — he had told her more than once. His appearance demanded that Chris go to a prestigious college, and that she have a respectable boyfriend, and if he had to pull strings or buy her a present to get that appearance, he'd do it. That was just the way things were.

The movie permeated her brain again — someone talking about the loneliness of waiting at home for her husband to return. Chris determinedly tuned it out again. Loneliness didn't matter if you were rich — her mother had told her that when she was much younger — loneliness was for people who didn't have _things_ instead.

And even if she was lonely — which she wasn't, thank you very much — better to be lonely than poor or creepy or a loser or something. Better to be lonely than hurt or sick or broken or something: loneliness didn't leave a scar that other people could see, so they never needed to know.

And even if it did, nobody dies from a scar.


End file.
